Love Etc
by frostygossamer
Summary: N.B. This fic began as a one-shot by TheResurrectionist. I have adopted it, with permission, to develop as a WIP. Rating now mildly M. "Bus rides are boring. Dean just wants to get to work. People are jerks. AU!Dean and Sam, where people who won't give up their seats won't stand a chance. Cute fluffy preslash. Happy New Year everyone! I'm back on the fluff wagon. :)" COMPLETE
1. One-shot

**A/N: This chapter is a re-posting of the one-shot 'Love Etc' by TheResurrectionist, who has kindly allowed me to adopt her fic and continue it.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural, its fandom, its characters or anything connected to them. I do not make money or profit in any way from this story.**

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**Love Etc (Chapter 1) by TheResurrectionist**

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A/N Inspired by a real bus riding experiences. If only these two men rode my bus, however! :)

Riding the bus was never a fun experience in Dean's opinion, but when you were working two jobs and paying rent, the bus was what you got and it was what you took.

And it worked out fine, usually. Most people kept their noses out of each other's business, and with a little perfectly timed seat grabbing and ignorance, everything turned out okay.

Except for one day.

Dean had been on the bus for a while now, barely into half of the whole ride he was going to have to take. It totally blew that he ended up living as far from the mechanic's garage he worked at during the day, but it was a sacrifice he made. Bills needed to be paid, after all, and a long bus ride wasn't the end of the world. It was usually a time for Dean to think about his day, plugging in his head phones and staring out the window like everyone else. It gave him time to reflect, and, though he'd never admit it to anyone, was one of the more peaceful points of his day.

Except for today.

Dean had taken his usual seat towards the middle, ignoring the other people like usual. Something he'd noticed over the last few months was how easy it was to read people just by where they sat. It was stupid, he knew, but when you were forced to spend almost four hours on a bus each day, you took in things most people wouldn't notice.

The people who sat in the back did it on purpose, climbed the stairs and threw themselves down in a seat, eyes daring you to look away. The little old ladies and kids sat in the front, close to the driver. Dean sat in the middle, right next to the reserved seats for the disabled and elderly.

Sadly, some people ignored the signs that asked you to offer your seat to someone who needed it. Those were the people who Dean hated the most, the snaky kids or businessmen who thought their name was written on the seat before their asses even got on the bus.

It was a little ridiculous, honestly. If you were such a hotshot, how come you rode the public bus?

Exactly.

When a mother and her daughter got on the bus, everyone's eyes flicked to the little girl quickly. The whole bus was full, seats taken, even those next to the crazy people who muttered to themselves. The girl was limping, leg in a cast, and her face was pinched in a familiar expression of pain. Dean quickly got up out of his seat, smiling at her and her mother as he waved to get their attention.

"Here, take my seat." He said, noting the look of relief and thanks the mother gave him, steering the daughter towards the seat.

Just as she limped towards it, a short, pudgy man in an obnoxious suit with a cellphone in his hand plopped himself down, cutting off the little girl, not noting the look of shock the two women gave him.

The whole bus began to stare, and Dean decided to give the man a chance. Maybe he hadn't seen the two?

"Excuse me," Dean said in the politest voice he could muster up. So what if he wasn't used to sucking up. He could move this guy.

"I got up for that girl over there," He said, pointing to the girl and her mother a few feet away. "I was hoping you could let her have the seat?"

The pudgy man looked up from his cellphone, eyes bored. "I got here first, asshole. Get another seat." His eyes returned to his phone then, prompting a look of disbelief from the driver in the rearview mirror.

"No, you don't understand," Dean said angrily. "I got up so they could have the seat. Would you just move and stop being a dick?"

The man looked up then, and ugly look of anger plastered on his face. "Uh huh, and what are you gonna do, asshat?"

Oh, no. This man was seriously an idiot.

Dean was about to lay into the man, red tinting his vision, until a large, calloused hand fell on the asshole businessman's shoulder, shadow falling over Dean and the man.

"I think he said get up." a deep voice rumbled, causing both men to look up.

A large man stood next to them, tall and muscular, a deep tan covering his skin. His eyes were sharp, a gaze you didn't disagree with if you wanted to live, and something itching inside of Dean knew that this man had seen a lot of fights.

The businessman seemed to realize this too, paling as he took in the new man's full height, a few inches higher than Dean, which was saying something. Dean wasn't short by any means.

"Uh... I was..." the businessman stuttered, eyes on the stranger's large hand still wrapped around his shoulder. He seemed to collect himself, though, and glared up at them. The new man was having none of this, squeezing the businessman's shoulder to get his point across. It wasn't working.

"Do you know who I am? I could get you arrested for assault!" the man said snidely, causing Dean to snort. This little twerp? "Get your hand off of me." the businessman said, twisting slightly.

The whole bus was still watching them, waiting to see if a fight would break out. Call them childish, but this was what riders lived for. Better than staring out the window, at least.

"I'm not gonna say it again. I don't care who the fuck you think you are." the tall man said, eyes flashing behind brown hair. "Get the hell out of this seat before I make you." He paused. "Am I understood?"

The man went even paler at his tone, eyes wide. Dean still thought it was a little hilarious, fighting over a bus seat like little kids. This asshole deserved whatever he got.

The man finally got up, blushing furiously and muttering into his phone, glaring at the tall man as he walked by him, height difference obvious. The tall man waved at the mom and daughter, gesturing for them to come over. The mom's face had a look of pure adoration on it, shuffling her daughter into the open seat, gratitude obvious.

"I don't know how to thank you." She said to the tall man. "I can't believe you did that. Most people would have ignored us." She looked at Dean. "Thank you so much too. I can't believe people are like this."

They both smiled at her, and the tall man patted her on the shoulder, large hands seemingly less threatening.

"It was no problem, Ma'am." he said politely, country twang in his voice that wasn't there when he was using it to intimidate. "He was an asshole, pardon my language."

She smiled at that, eyes getting a little wet. "It's just been a really stressful week, you know?" She said, glancing at her daughter, whose face still had a little bit of pain on it. The tall man nodded.

"I'm glad someone else agrees with me." He said, looking at Dean.

Dean glanced at his feet, somehow embarrassed. God, the world must have been ending. Dean was blushing.

"Uh... it was no problem, ma'am." He said softly, smiling a little. She seemed happy, politely ignoring his sudden bashfulness.

"Well, here's my stop." the stranger said, shifting a little. "It was nice to meet you...?"

"Dean." He got out, frozen by the dimples appearing on the taller man's face.

"I'm Sam." The man said, hand out. They shook quickly.

"Maybe I'll see you later?" Sam asked, eyes a little too innocent for Dean's liking. He had the impulsive urge to follow Sam off the bus like a puppy. Damn those stupid dimples.

Dean nodded. "It was nice to meet you too." he saw the doors open, and impulsively reached out, pen in hand.

"Uh, call me?" He asked quickly, grabbing Sam's hand and scribbling his number on the humongous thing. "In case you need someone to help you intimidate people again?" he smiled a little at his lame joke.

Sam seemed amused, taking his hand back and nodding at Dean.

"Yeah. I'd like that."

The doors closed behind Sam as he got off, but not in time to prevent Dean from checking out his ass.

Oh yeah. Best bus ride ever.

End :)

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**A/N: Actually not the end...**


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: From here on in this is all my own work. Thanks to TheResurrectionist for her inspiration. I hope she enjoys what I do with it.

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Love Etc (Chapter 2) by frostygossamer

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Sam chuckled to himself as he stepped off of the bus. Boy, did he hate people like that uncouth suit who had plonked his butt in the vacant seat meant for that little injured girl. Even so, he probably wouldn't have intervened, stressed out as he was with all the late hours and sleepless nights he had been pulling. But it was that hot guy, who he had noticed the moment he got on, that had just gotten up from the seat. That was the only reason his attention had even been focussed inside the bus.

"Nice guy," he had thought. "Fine-looking AND nice. Good combination."

Sam had felt like some sort of white knight, when he had jumped in to support the guy against that asshole, which was ironic.

He swung into the foyer of his office building, and rode the elevator up to his floor in kind of a sleepy daze. Rachel was lying in wait when he landed.

"They're waiting for you!" she hissed in an sharp undertone.

Sam nodded. "Gonna go freshen up," he said. "I'll be two minutes, tops."

In the men's washroom, he sighed deeply and stared bleary-eyed into the mirror over the washbasins. He so didn't want to do this today, but, well, the show must go on. He washed his face again to wake himself up, and he was watching the swirl of water spiral away down the drain when the sudden realization hit him. Jeez! He had washed that guy's number off of his hand. Crap!

~:::~

Sam had been in the meeting for almost two hours, and it couldn't get any more dull. The financial guys on both sides were talking money and Sam wondered why he had to sit through it. He would rather have done it all by email. It was pretty much a done deal anyways. The takeover had been on the cards for months. It was just a matter of someone signing off on the details. Why did the number-crunchers have to make such a big production of it?

He tilted his seat back and closed his eyes for a moment, trying to look like he was concentrating on the bean-counters' incessant lip flapping. The handsome face of the guy from the bus floated into his head with its beautiful, sexy smile.

What had the guy said his name was again? Dan? Dean? Don? He hadn't quite caught it, what with the chatter of the people getting down from the bus behind him. And then he had written his number on Sam's hand. With what? Some kind of a damn whiteboard marker? Sam rubbed his hand irritatedly. Damn it! Why was he such an idiot rinsing it off?

Then a thought occurred to him. He had ridden the bus that morning only because his car had crapped out at the last possible moment, and if he had waited to be picked up he would have been late for the meeting. But the guy probably rode the bus every day. If Sam rode the bus every day he would be sure to see him again. Then he could explain how he had lost his number and couldn't call him, and everything would be OK. Great idea!

Sam couldn't help but grin at that obvious solution to his problem, an expression the suit then speaking took as approval. Rachel peeped at him from under her bangs and smirked.

Hah! That woman knew him too well.

~:::~

Sam was waiting for the bus next morning, fingers tightly crossed that he had the right one. It was the same one he had caught the previous day, but he didn't know for sure whether that guy would necessarily get on the same service number at precisely the same time as last time. Maybe he was running earlier or later, or maybe he wouldn't even ride the bus that day.

Sitting on the bus, Sam felt his heart leap into his throat as they rounded the corner approaching the guy's stop. He had taken a seat in the middle of the bus and only wished he could have kept a seat free for this Don, or whoever, but, as usual, the bus was way too full for that.

The driver pulled the vehicle to a halt at the bus stop and passengers began to file on. At first Sam didn't see the guy he was looking for, then there he was. He recognised the way he walked, the slightly bowlegged gait, before he could see all of him. Sam glanced up, trying to catch the guy's eye and smiled, expecting his smile to be returned, but no. The guy simply nodded his head to acknowledge him and continued past to sit behind and on the other side of the bus.

Sam was a little surprised at first, but then doubt started to creep into his mind. Had he misunderstood the guy's signals? Had he only assumed the guy was interested because he was a generally friendly guy. Sure he had tried to give Sam his number, but perhaps he did that all the time. Possibly he had just run out of business cards or something?

Sam groaned internally and turned to stare out the window. He guessed he should probably just forget about this guy.

~:::~

Sam spent the whole day at work feeling grumpy, and snapping every time Rachel spoke to him.

"What crawled up your butt and bit you on the you-know-whats?" she demanded, as they shared a couple afternoon lattes. "You've been in a bad mood all day. Takeover got you worried?"

Sam shook his head. "That's not it," he said. "It's just... I met this guy..."

"Ooh," Rachel responded brightly. "So you met a guy, huh? C'mon spill it."

Sam sighed. "There's nothing to spill, Rach. Just some hot guy I ran into on the bus yesterday. Helped him deal with some asshat seat-blocker. Thought we clicked, but apparently not. Today I got stiffed, kinda."

She patted his hand. "Don't sweat it, Sam," she chuckled. "The guy doesn't know what he's missing. He's not good enough for you."

He had to laugh. "Oh, Rach, you shoulda seen him. He so was. And the crazy thing is he gave me his number, and I lost it."

"He gave you his number?" she repeated, raising a perfect eyebrow.

"Yeah. But I'm not 100 per cent sure he was interested," Sam explained. "Don't know if he's even gay."

"Well, perhaps he is, perhaps he isn't," reasoned Rachel. "You need to find out a little more about him."

"I guess," Sam agreed. "Maybe I should give driving a miss and ride the bus more often?"

~:::~

Sam was on the bus the following day yet again, only this time he had returned to his previous seat in the back where he could better observe. As he had hoped, the guy got on at his usual stop. He sat down in a spot mid-bus and relaxed into the narrow seat, spreading his knees as best he could. He rooted in his jacket pocket, pulling out an MP3 player and plugged the ear-buds into his shell-like, Sam's word, ears.

Sam studied the guy carefully hoping to find pointers in the way he looked. He was wearing a leather jacket over a black T-shirt and heavy jeans. On his feet he wore boots, good ones but evidently repaired and now heavily scuffed, which could mean several things. Probably he treated himself when he was in money and made do in between. He had to work someplace where he needed to protect his feet.

Sam could see that, under his jacket, the guy had great muscle definition. He could work out a lot or could be his line of work was pretty physical, lots of heavy lifting. Certainly the guy was no fairy, the seat-nazi incident had proved that, but on the other hand he was no barn-door knucklehead. His hands were nimble-fingered yet strong, the hands of a craftsman, not big bunches of bananas like Sam's own. Perfect for handling small intricate things. Perfect for handling Sam maybe?

"Keep your mind on the job in hand," he scolded himself.

It occurred to him that the guy might be some kind of artist. Something artistic for sure, because gorgeous was kind of a weak word to describe him. He so could have been a model. He had to be into something artsy. Sam remembered a guy he knew at college who was a sculptor in metal. Yeah, he could be into metalwork art. That so fitted his profile.

Sam wished he knew what the guy was listening to on his MP3 player. Music choice said so much about a person's personality. Sure to be something classical, he reasoned, something to soothe the soul while he worked on his latest piece.

Before he knew it the bus had reached Sam's stop. He almost missed it, wrapped as he was in his contemplation of the unwitting object of his desire. Barely in time, he leaped up and scrambled to the door, jumping out onto the street just as the doors slammed shut. He turned and glanced back at the bus where he locked eyes with the guy for a fleeting moment. The guy sat openmouthed, having clearly only now noticed Sam had even been on his bus.

Sam jumped as someone patted him on the shoulder. It was Rachel. She brushed the bangs out of his eyes and smiled.

"Hi, Sam," she said. "Ready to meet with Mr. Singer?"

TBC

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A/N: Unusually for me I have most of this sketched out or in my head but not written up yet. I'll try to update soon.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Now we'll catch up on Dean's POV.

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Love Etc (Chapter 3) by frostygossamer

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After his new acquaintance, Sam, had gotten off of the bus, Dean still had some ways to go before he arrived at his own stop. Unfortunately he was going to have to complete his journey straphanging. Not his favourite thing. Yeah, well, at least he didn't have to walk all the way to the repair shop.

Normally Dean liked to listen to his music on the long ride, thus avoiding any interaction with fellow passengers, but now the grateful mom and her little girl kept grinning up at him whenever his eyes inadvertently wandered their way. At least the humiliated seat-hogger had done the decent thing and sneaked off of the bus at the last stop, so Dean wasn't going to have to exchange scowls with him the entire journey.

Dean flashed the mom a quick smile and deliberately turned his back on her, plugging his earphones back in and zoning out. He hoped they would get the message and leave him in peace. He had loaded his new iPod look-alike gizmo with Metallica's album 'Ride the Lightning', so he just let the awesome guitar riffs wash over him, taking him to another place.

Some place with less aggravation.

~:::~

When Dean arrived at the repair shop, Julio and his boss Luis where already hard at work. Julio acknowledged him with a raised eyebrow and a nod toward Luis' office.

"He's not in a good mood this morning," he hissed, chuckling. "Mother-in-Law trouble."

Dean opened up his locker and hung his leather jacket inside, placing his MP3 gadget on top of his copy of 'Busty Asian Beauties' girlie mag. Taped to the inside of the door was a photo of his ex, Jo, in a sexy bikini, a snap from their last holiday together before they broke up a year ago. He knew he really should have taken that down but it looked kind of right in a grimy garage locker. He snickered at that thought and transferred a kiss from his lips to her tiny photographic ones with his finger tip.

He stopped by Luis' office. "Where'd you want me, Lu?" Dean asked the portly man sitting at the desk, behind a stack of paperwork.

Luis groaned and glanced up at the work schedule on his wall.

"You wanna make a start on that Chrysler? Guy sez it's making some weird-ass, high-pitched squeak whenever he hangs a left."

"I'm on it," Dean replied.

~:::~

The Chrysler squeak took Dean all morning. At lunch time he went out and grabbed himself a couple hotdogs from a street cart. It wasn't much but it would keep him going until he got to the bar tonight. His second job was tending bar, and he could get some dinner there before starting his shift.

He took his time walking back, enjoying the fresh air. As he walked and ate his dogs, his mind drifted back to that good-looking guy he had met on the bus. He reached in his pocket and took out his cell phone. No calls. The guy hadn't rung yet. Maybe he wasn't going to ring after all?

Dean wasn't in the habit of giving people his number on impulse like that. Especially not guys. In fact he had never given any guy his number before. He really didn't know what had possessed him to do it this time. Just because the guy was hot and friendly and, if he was honest with himself, big, that didn't make it a good idea. So maybe the guy WAS gay, Dean felt pretty sure his gaydar wasn't wrong on that, it didn't mean that he would go for HIM. Dean wasn't sure he even WANTED the guy to go for him.

Until a year ago Dean had been living with Jo, and had considered himself the straightest guy he knew. It had actually been Jo who had suggested that there was something a little bogus about his machismo. Of course he had denied it vehemently, but it had gotten him thinking. In the end he had admitted to himself that, while in no way was he a 'homo' in the sense that his ex-marine dad would have used the word, there WAS a certain type of a guy that kind of 'stirred' something in him.

Sam was just that kind of a guy.

~:::~

When Dean got back to the garage, Luis and Julio had brought out two chairs and were playing poker for candy on the forecourt. Luis glanced at his watch knowing that, being a pretty good timekeeper, Dean's return signalled that lunch was over.

Dean worked on another couple cars that afternoon, a Ford and a Buick. The Buick had an iPod dock so he plugged in his music and filled the shop with the strains of 'Fade to Black'. Julio grinned. He was more of an Eminem man himself.

As he worked Dean wondered what Julio and Luis would think of him if they knew he was waiting on a call from some gay guy. He shook his head. He could just imagine what they would say, nothing good. He couldn't blame them. He would have said the same himself a year ago. Not that he had ever been homophobic but, as a car mechanic, he lived in a man's world.

Did Sam live in a man's world? He was a big guy, tall, muscular, with a self-assertive almost military bearing. He reminded Dean of his dad, who had always carried himself like the former marine he was.

Dean pictured the way the handsome stud had been dressed. Dark jeans, blue-green check button-down cotton shirt, designer with a couple buttons undone, and a suede coat. Cowboy chic. Butch but understated. Chuck Norris on stilts.

And where had he been going on that bus? To work? What would a guy like that do for a living? Dean pondered on that. He vaguely remembered a bouncer at the bar who used to work out of an office right where Sam had debussed. Maybe he worked there? Maybe Sam was in door security?

Dean could just imagine how good Sam would look in a sharp suit and a bowtie, on the door at some fancy nightspot, intimidating party crashers. The guy was about eight feet tall, even HE would be intimidated. He wondered if Sam had to tie that floppy hair back when he was on the job.

"Hmm. The guy has great hair," he thought, imagining himself combing his fingers through it. "Jeez, he would look great in a suit, like sex on legs."

Dean closed his eyes and let himself fantasize for a while.

"Or maybe at some rock venue in a tight black T and butt-hugging jeans, with shades and one of those headset mics, laying down the law like he owned the place."

The image made Dean feel a little weak in the knees. He was just imagining how it would feel for Sam to lay those huge, calloused hands of his on Dean's body, frogmarching his outside, maybe to rough him up a little in some alley, when Julio slid over.

The older mechanic bumped up against Dean, as he rubbed his hands clean on a piece of rag. The jolt roused Dean from his daydream, feeling a little like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

"Falling asleep over that engine, huh?" Julio asked with a smirk. "Pulling two jobs can do that to ya. Or maybe its that heavy metal crap numbing your brain."

"Julio, man," Dean snorted. "You insult Metallica one more time and I may have to kill you."

~:::~

When Dean left the garage and headed for his bar job Sam still hadn't called. And he never did that night. By the time he finally cleared up and went home, Dean had resigned himself to never getting that call.

Sitting on the bus on the long journey home to his rented apartment, Dean decided that it was probably for the best Sam hadn't got back to him. He really didn't need the hassle of a gay relationship anyways. He was a macho guy with a macho job and he liked that self-image. He really wasn't ready to give it up just yet, if ever.

He made up his mind to forget about the guy.

That was why, boarding his usual bus at the usual time the following day, and spotting Sam sitting in what was more or less HIS habitual seat, Dean decided to give the guy the brush off. Not that he wanted to seem cold, but he knew it was the right thing to do. No point in getting the poor guy's hopes up when he really wasn't interested, now was there? And he wasn't interested, not really.

Or at least that was what Dean told himself.

The next morning, Dean got on the bus again and this time he didn't even bother to glance around and check out the other passengers. He just jumped into the first vacant seat and immersed himself in 'Ride the Lightning', staring fixedly out the window. That was always the best thing to do riding a bus, just like riding an elevator.

Dean had actually managed to forget about Sam, when his attention was suddenly taken by some commotion, and he glanced up to see that very guy pushing his way off of the bus.

As Dean watched, Sam turned on his heals and stared back into the bus, his hazel eyes locking for an instant with Dean's. Jeez, the guy had lovely hazel eyes. And then... then a very hot blonde in a sharp suit stepped up behind Sam, pawed him familiarly and, putting her lips close to his ear, whispered something.

"The hell!" Dean thought. "That bitch!"

TBC

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A/N: So Dean's a bit unsure about his sexuality. But is he kidding himself he can forget about Sam? More soon...


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Now back to Sam's Pov...

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Love Etc (Chapter 4) by frostygossamer

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The bus pulled away with Dean on it. Rachel grabbed Sam's elbow as they stood on the sidewalk, and attempted to drag him towards the building.

"You just gonna stand here staring after that damn bus? Or you gonna come on inside and face Bobby Singer?" she demanded, mock-chidingly. "He's been waiting on you a half hour."

Sam shook himself and turned to follow his confidante up to their office on the second floor of the multi-occupancy building behind them.

"He's got such beautiful green eyes," he mumbled dreamily as they got in the elevator.

"Who? Bobby?" she asked. Then she chuckled, catching on. "Oh, Sam, you really got it bad."

~:::~

When the elevator doors opened on their floor, Sam's PA, Andy, was standing there with a mug of hot java. Sam took it and knocked back a bracing slug.

"Guess I may as well jump right in," he said, heading straight to the boardroom, leaving Rachel and Andy chuckling. They knew he hadn't been looking forward to this.

Sam stormed into the boardroom to find Singer sitting at the head of the conference table, a frown on his old face. The middle-aged company owner jumped up the moment Sam burst through the door.

"Sam," he said. "Good to see ya, boy."

Sam gulped and strode over to seize the older man's hand and give it a firm shake.

"You too, Bobby," he responded. "Just a shame it has to be this way."

Bobby nodded in agreement. "Yeah," he said sadly. "Takeovers can be a bitch, huh?"

The takeover had been looming for quite a while. They had put off taking the plunge until it became inevitable.

Sam agreed. "This isn't how I wanted it to go down," he commented.

"Nor me," Bobby concurred. "But, well, Chapter 11 is no laughing matter."

They both sighed and Bobby came around the desk to sit down with Sam, on a big leather couch at the side of the room.

"Nobody wanted this to happen," Bobby continued. "But I'm glad that you and me could get together on this thing. Your dad would have approved."

Sam smiled and patted the older guy's knee. "You were a good friend to my dad, Bobby," he said. "That means a lot."

Bobby Singer had been almost a surrogate father to Sam since his dad had passed away. Sam was concerned this thing could spoil their relationship.

"I'm glad you think so, son," Bobby replied. "It makes this a whole lot easier for me."

Sam nodded. "It's hard for a guy to hand over the reins of a company he started. A company that's failing because of the damn economy, no fault of his own. We both know that's gonna feel bad."

Bobby chortled wryly and slapped the tall guy on the back. "Not as bad as I thought it would," he said.

Sam let out a huff of relief. He felt bad for his friend Bobby but he was glad he was taking the whole thing so well. Sam had been afraid the old guy would break down.

"That's GOOD, Bobby," he said, trying to sound positive.

"Sam," Bobby responded, with a sigh. "I know this hurts you as much as it hurts me, but can I say, damn it boy, you've saved this old guy's bacon."

"Bobby, it's nothing," Sam insisted. "We entrepreneurs gotta stick together. Dad woulda wanted it this way."

The older man laughed. "But taking over my business? In this climate? It's more than I coulda asked."

"Bobby, my company is more successful than I coulda hoped. I can take the loss. You and your team are gonna be an asset to WinchesterTech," Sam assured him. "And I'll be glad to have you around."

Right then Andy arrived with coffee and cookies on a trolley.

"Great!" declared Bobby. "You want a little Irish in that, Sam?" He pulled a flask out of his pocket.

Sam chuckled and accepted. The two men could relax now the awkwardness was over. Sam decided to change the subject.

"Got any advice for me about wooing someone, huh Bobby?" he asked jokingly.

Bobby guffawed. "In my day you just had to buy the gal red roses and get down on one knee, that simple," he said. "But I got zero idea about your team. They even like roses?"

Sam snorted. "Guess we like roses about as much as the next guy. But somehow I don't think they'd swing it in this case."

"Oh? You got someone in your sights, huh?" Bobby grinned. "Sorry, but you're asking the wrong guy here."

Sam nodded. He was glad he lived in a liberal world, but romance was way easier back when it was black-and-white.

Shades of gray could be a bitch.

~:::~

After seeing Bobby into his to truck an hour later, Sam returned to get his head into the paperwork. Seeing he was back, Andy popped in his office to update him on the situation with his conked out ride.

"Sam, I've booked your old wreck in at a garage to get it repaired," he quipped cheekily. "It's a little place I've been using. They got a guy there who's a genius with an automobile. Got the hands of an artist."

Sam nodded absently. "Whatever," he agreed without looking up.

The condition of his car was the last thing Sam was worrying about right at that moment. His mind was far too busy with the problems of more than one kind of 'acquisition'.

~:::~

Dean was still grumbling to himself when he got into work. Who was that blonde? Sam's wife, girlfriend, whatever? The guy probably had a wife and four or five kids. So had Dean been totally, ludicrously wrong about him being gay or what? Or was Sam just some cheater who flirted with guys behind his wife's back? Or... or was Dean just imagining the whole damn thing? He didn't know whether to kick himself or Sam.

When he arrived he noticed that someone had brought in some high-end SUV, and Julio was working on it already, giving it an initial assessment. The latino mechanic wiped his hands and waved to him.

"Wanna take this while I finish up the Ford?" he asked. "Ford guy's been calling every half hour. Lu wants to get him off of his back."

Dean nodded on the way to his locker.

"You know what? You were right, Jo. I'm a jerk," he said to the photo of his ex, as he took off his jacket.

The SUV was one of the expensive models. A ride that someone with too much money buys for its looks rather than its functionality. It was clear to Dean, right from the off, that the assclown who owned it knew bupkiss about taking care of his automobile. The engine badly needed a thorough retune, and the interior made him shake his head in disgust. He fetched a plastic trash sack and cleaned out the footwell, so he could get inside and check it out. In doing so, he found a few clues about the owner.

Happily the driver's seat was already adjusted for a tall guy. Dean had no trouble getting in, although the headrest felt all wrong. He tossed a bunch of business and tech magazines in several languages in the sack. Apparently the guy was multilingual. Vaguely interesting but unimportant. Dean also found a short stack of CDs. Bonnie Tyler, Tina Turner, Cher, Anastacia, so the guy was a power ballad fan, huh? And the radio was preset to a classical station. Not really Dean's cup of tea. He liked the classics, yeah, but classic rock, right?

The SUV's clock registered a shitload of mileage, and in the glove compartment, along with a handful of hard candy and a couple receipts, there was a heavily used street map with scribbles around Stanford University. Dean assumed the driver could be an ex-student, or maybe even a professor.

"Nerd," he pronounced.

~:::~

By the end of the day Dean had the nerd's ride purring like a pussycat. He closed the hood with a satisfied smirk and went to clean up, dropping in the vehicle's paperwork with Luis on the way. His boss glanced at it cursorily and put it with the rest.

"I'll call Mr, uh, Winchester and tell him he can pick it up ASAP," Luis muttered.

After washing up, Dean went to his locker to get his leather jacket. He pulled out a toolbag from the back. He was going to 'borrow' a few tools overnight. The owner of the bar where he worked had a problem with his delivery van and Dean had promised to take a look at it. He could use the extra cash.

No rest for the wicked.

TBC

* * *

A/N: Will Sam pick up the SUV? Will he run into Dean at the garage? Wait and see. Another update soon...


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: Balls back in Sam's court again.

* * *

Love Etc (Chapter 5) by frostygossamer

* * *

Sam had become a permanent fixture in the back of the bus. This morning, casting a Holmesian eye over the figure of his quarry in his usual seat, oblivious in his headphones, he spotted that the guy had a bag on the floor between his feet. Sam suspected it was a tool bag, from the metallic ringing and clanking that came from it, whenever it slewed around with the swerving of the bus, and whenever its owner unthinkingly kicked it back into place.

"Tools," Sam thought. "Ah-ha! Sculptor's equipment. Welding gear, probably. Just as I thought."

He imagined a sculptor must have studied his specialty at Art School. He would undoubtedly have been a WOW at Art School. Mixing in artsy circles, with THAT face and body, he would have been able to have ANY girl he wanted. Almost any boy too.

Sam decided he was probably fooling himself to hope that such a babe wouldn't have already been claimed by someone, someone as stunning as he was. They would be a beautiful couple. Honestly, how could anyone so hot be single?

The moment Sam got back in his office he beeped Rachel at her desk. Another thought had occurred to him.

"Rach? Can you ask someone to call around the local art galleries and find out where this guy Don shows his work?" he asked excitedly. "I'm thinking of buying something, or maybe giving the guy a commission. WinchesterTech could use a piece of corporate art."

"Well, I guess that's ONE way of getting into the guy's pants," Rachel chuckled. "Become his patron. Or his sugar daddy even?"

Sam rolled his eyes. "C'mon," he groaned. "Blow down my great idea, why doncha?"

Rachel laughed. "Hey, I'm not knocking it. Plenty great partnerships started that way. I'll get on it."

A few minutes later Rachel wandered into his office.

"I put Andy on the gallery thing. That OK?" she asked.

"Fine," Sam replied.

Rachel pulled up a chair beside him, effectively breaking his concentration on his work.

"What?" he asked, putting down his pen and leaning back in his executive chair.

"You're not the only one seeing someone new," she said. "Only I'm not seeing him as in watching his ass. I'm actually dating the guy."

"Oh really?" Sam exclaimed. "Wanna tell me about it?"

"Well, duh," Rachel responded, obviously she WAS telling him about it. "Firstly, he's a dentist. And, secondly, he's called Dan."

"Dan the dentist," he chuckled. "Does he do low rates for friends of friends? I could use a new crown."

Rachel slapped him on the hand. "Do you even care about my happiness, Sam?"

"Sure I do, Rach," Sam assured her. "You're my best and closest friend."

Rachel crossed her legs and brushed some lint off of her skirt.

"So I'll be bringing him to the reception tonight," she went on.

"What damn reception?" Sam demanded. "Did I miss a memo?"

Rachel raised a perfect eyebrow. "The Bobby Singer thing...?" she hinted. "I did tell you I was gonna book someplace for a little drinks thing, right? To celebrate the takeover and introduce the staff?"

The light suddenly went on in Sam's memory. "Oh. Yeah. The Bobby drinks thing. Sure." He shrugged. "I'm not exactly in the mood."

"The Hell you're not!" Rachel yelped. "You'll be there if I say so. You don't wanna upset the old guy."

Sam still looked doubtful.

"You'll enjoy it, Sam," she insisted. "They got themselves one INCREDIBLY hot barman. He'll really take your mind off of this Don."

Sam responded with a grunt. "OK, OK, Rach," he conceded. "I'll be there."

It was almost the end of the day when Sam finished his paperwork. He stood up and stretched his long limbs, then he ventured out of his own office for a breather. He ran into Andy taking a break in the break room.

"Any of those cookies left?" he asked.

Andy, whose mouth was stuffed with cookie, shook his head and swallowed.

"Last one, sorry," he apologized.

"That's OK," Sam commented. "I'll swipe one of Rach's Twinkies." Andy chortled loudly.

"Oh, Sam, I finished checking out those galleries," he remarked.

"And?" asked Sam, as he tore into the Twinkie's wrapper with his teeth.

"And nada," Andy answered. "No one called Don exhibiting right now. The only Don anyone had on their books was some nonagenarian naive artist named Chang."

"Bummer," commented Sam.

"But," continued Andy. "The garage called about your car. It's ready to pick up. I was gonna go get it soon as I finished this latte."

"Yeah, great. Thanks," Sam mumbled, feeling a little deflated as another good idea let him down.

He stumbled back toward his office, Twinkie in hand.

Two seconds later he came back.

"Tell you what, Andy," he said. "I'll go pick up the car myself. May as well go home and get gussied up for this reception thing anyways."

Andy nodded. "Sure," he said.

Sam was still in his office, logging himself out of his computer and packing up, when his phone rang. He debated for a moment before picking up the call.

"Hello?" he asked, uncertainly.

"Sam?" was the reply from the other end of the line.

Sam sighed and flopped down in his leather chair. It was his ex, Dave. The guy he had lived with since graduating from Stanford. The guy he had broken up with when bestseller fame had lured him away from life as a college professor.

"Dave. Long time no hear," he quipped.

It had been months since Sam had heard from his ex-boyfriend. In fact they hadn't spoken since Dave had departed for Paris, on his book tour.

"Got time to talk, Sam?" asked Dave.

"Sure, Dave, I got a couple minutes," Sam answered, getting more comfortable. "What's this about?"

Sam really didn't need this right then, but he felt he owed the guy he used to love a few moments out of his day.

"Uh, nothing really," said Dave. "Just thought I'd call and ask how you're doing."

"Guess I'm doing OK," Sam replied tersely. "Company's doing fine."

"And you're well?" Dave asked. "And, uh, happy?"

Sam paused for a second. "Yeah, Dave, I'm fine," he lied. "I guess you're still hawking your book around Europe, huh?"

There was an awkward silence which lasted several seconds.

"So you haven't heard?" Dave asked. "That I'm back at Stanford? Permanently?"

"The book deal fell through?" Sam asked, trying not to sound delighted.

"I put it on hold," Dave answered, evasively.

Sam punched the air. That damn book. Even though he would have to admit that his and Dave's relationship had been on the slide for quite some time, it had been that damn book which had finally come between them. Just when Sam could have used some support with setting up WinchesterTech, Dave had gotten it into his head he was going to be the new J.K. Rowling. They had argued, they had separated and they had gone their different ways. Sam HATED that damn book.

"I was wondering..." Dave continued, when Sam didn't respond verbally. "I wondered if you've ever reconsidered... rejoining academia, Sam."

The truth was Sam had. He did all the time. He wasn't a natural businessman and he missed Stanford, painfully. But he wasn't going to admit that to Dave. Not yet anyways. And right then wasn't a good time to discuss it.

"I'm sorry, Dave," he said. "But we're gonna have to talk about this some other time. Right now I got a reception to get to, and I don't wanna be late."

"Oh, sure," Dave responded. "I won't keep you, Sam. But, just so you know, I'd be VERY glad to see you back at Stanford."

Sam sighed. "I'm sure you would, Dave," he remarked.

Oh, yeah. Sam was sure Dave would LOVE to see him come running back to Stanford, and HIM, with his tail between his legs. And damn it if that didn't seem like a ridiculously appealing idea.

He put down the phone.

Leaving the office, Sam stopped by at Rachel's desk.

"This thing tonight?" he began.

Rachel raised a questioning eyebrow.

"I, uh, I may have a little announcement to make," he said.

Outside the building, Sam caught a cab to Luis' Repair Shop.

TBC

* * *

A/N: So Sam's got a decision to make, but now he's going to pick up his car. More soon...


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: What's Dean been up to meanwhile?

* * *

Love Etc (Chapter 6) by frostygossamer

* * *

Yep. There he was again.

Dean was no fool and he wasn't blind. He had noticed that guy Sam lurking in the back of his bus every day. A guy that size was hard to miss if you kept your eyes open. It kind of creeped him out, being watched by some security professional like he was some kind of a terror suspect. Well, it would have creeped him out if it hadn't been flattering on some weird-ass, deviant sort of level.

Being shadowed by a strange, wild-eyed, crazy mofo would have made even Dean, who could take care of himself thank you, uneasy. Being full on STALKED by an apparently shy, but conspicuously HOT dude was something very much else. Dean didn't reckon Sam was dangerous, more like he was just some quietly kinky bastard.

Disturbing, yes, but nevertheless intriguing.

Now, maybe Dean could have put a stop to this thing by actually TALKING to the guy. But Dean had a stubborn streak. He wasn't going to be the first one to blink. He was determined to wait until Sam opened the conversation.

However damn long that took.

All the same, Dean was a nosy guy. He really needed to know a little more about his stalker, and he was dying to confirm his own guesswork about who Sam was. So that morning Dean had decided to act the detective. He was going to pin this guy down, find out his name, his address, his job. And the place to start was that security firm's office he had seen him walk into.

With that aim in mind, Dean picked up his tool bag and slipped off at the very next stop after Sam got down from the bus. He then walked the block back toward the office building that he had glimpsed Sam and 'that bitch' enter the previous morning.

He walked into the first floor premises of 'Spartan Security', trying to create the general impression that he might be a future client looking to hire himself a Spartan.

The redhead on the reception desk looked up from filing her long fingernails and smiled insincerely.

"Hi there, sweetie. Whaddya want?" she asked, eyeing his burden.

Dean guessed she hadn't been to charm school. As if to confirm his guess, she blew a lazy gum bubble. Dean slapped on his most disarming smile and placed his bag on the floor. It made a surprisingly loud metallic clank. The woman gave him a curious look.

"My, uh, cymbals. I, uh, I'm the drummer with a band," Dean ad-libbed, leaning into her desk and winking. "We're looking to book one of your guys for a gig," he explained. "We've used him before, and he did a great job, but I forget his name. Think it was Sam?"

"Sam?" she repeated dubiously. "I'll check in our employees file."

She rattled the keys of the computer on her desk for a couple seconds and pouted thoughtfully.

"Would that be Sam Mandela or Sam Little Bear?" she asked.

Dean opened his mouth to protest, but changed his mind. He wasn't going to get any deeper into his fib.

"You know, I think I'll get back to you on that," he said.

He walked out of the office feeling a little thwarted. Well, Sam didn't exactly look like an Afro-American, and he didn't really look like a Native American either. Back to the drawing board. He grabbed his bag and hurried out of the building, completely missing the display board which bore witness to the fact that the building was multi-occupancy.

WinchesterTech was located on the floor above.

It had started to rain before Dean caught the next bus to Luis' repair shop. Typical. Dean hated rain. He would have loved to move someplace where they actually had sunshine, like Florida maybe or California. If only he had the money.

He got to the garage a little late, for a change. Julio came out of Luis' office when he arrived. He nodded in Dean's direction.

"Hey, Deano, your buddy Sean called earlier," he said. "Wanted you to call him back, soon as you got in."

"Yeah? Thanks, dude," replied Dean, on his way to his locker.

In no way was Sean his buddy. Sean was the owner of the bar where Dean worked several evenings a week, to supplement Luis' not so lavish paycheques. The fake-Irish pub landlord was a slave driver just like Luis, expecting Dean to work flat out for a pittance of pay and acting like he reckoned he was doing him a favour.

It wasn't much fun serving two masters, but Dean had debts back from when his dad was still alive, when John had needed hospital care and they had had no health insurance. If Dean had believed he had the slightest bit of luck he would have been buying lottery tickets. It was probably the only way he would get out of this downturn he had gotten into. That or marry an heiress.

There was a payphone in the locker room, so he dropped Sean a dime.

"Hi, Sean?" he began, "You wanted me?"

"Oh, Dean, great," Sean replied, sounding relieved. "I got a last minute booking for the private bar and two of my regular people are out sick. Any chance you can get in an hour early tonight and help me set up, huh?"

Dean considered. "Well," he prevaricated. "Can't just walk out on my day job, Sean. Gonna make it worth my while?"

Sean laughed. "Sure," he said. "Course I'll make it worth your while, Dean. I need you. I can't afford to turn down a cash booking the way things are."

Dean had to admit he had the same problem. "OK," he agreed. "You can count on me, man."

Now all he had to do was square an early finish with Luis and Julio.

Sam turned up at Luis' Repair Shop at 5:15pm. He had meant to get there a little earlier, but that was before he got interrupted by the unexpected telephone call from his ex, Dave.

He got out of the cab still ruminating about the call from Dave. He had some balls trying to walk back into Sam's life when it suited him. He wondered how much Dave knew about WincesterTech's success. Maybe he had seen that interview he did for Fortune magazine? Or maybe he just missed him. Anything was possible.

Sam walked into the shop and looked around. Julio, who was sitting in a repaired car filling in the paperwork, tucked the clipboard under his arm and trotted over to the visitor.

"I can help you?" he asked.

"My car," said Sam. "My SUV. It's supposed to be ready...?"

"Oh, yeah, the SUV," Julio responded, then he yelled in the back. "Hey, Lu, the guy's here for the SUV!"

Luis came bustling out of his office and introduced himself to his customer. He ran over the invoice with Sam and Sam paid what was owing without argument. He really didn't know enough about automobiles to dispute it anyways.

"Many thanks," Luis said, taking Sam's cheque. "And there's a bag of your personal property in my office," he told Sam. "My mechanic had to clean the ute out before we could valet it."

Sam smiled awkwardly. "Uh, sorry about that," he apologized. "I'm kinduva hamster in the car."

Luis chortled. "Me too," he admitted. "Wife nags me about it all the damn time."

He handed over the trash bag Dean had filled the day before. Sam threw the sack in the back of his vehicle and got in the driver's seat. He started the engine. It purred happily.

"Thanks, man," he shouted to Julio across the shop.

"Don't thank me, Mister," Julio replied, grinning. "It was my pal Dean who worked on your ride, not me."

"Oh, well, thank him from me," he responded.

Sam pulled off of the forecourt and onto the road thinking, "EVERY guy seems be named something like Don right now. Am I getting obsessed?"

Sam roared home to his condo and took a quick three S's, sh*t, shower, shave. He put on a nice clean shirt and, unable to find any clean socks, he opened a birthday boxers'n'socks ensemble given to him by Rachel. They bore the motto, "Never give up! Never surrender!" a Galaxy Quest reference. They screamed 'Nerd' at him.

He decided to wear Rachel's favourite suit too, rather than go casual, seeing as it was a business-type do. He gave himself one last check over in the mirror and he was back on the road. Luckily Rachel had texted him the GPS co-ords for the venue.

He parked up in the parking lot outside 'Sean's Irish Tavern' and hurried in, hoping Rachel had been keeping Bobby amused enough not to notice his absence.

Although he tried to sneak into the private bar unobtrusively, the whole room stopped talking and stared at him the moment he arrived. He felt kind of self-conscious, but then Rachel, who had been in a huddle with Bobby, saved him like always. She sashayed on over and planted a huge smacker on his lips and the rest of the room applauded.

"At last," she said with a big smile. "We've all been waiting for you."

TBC

* * *

A/N: I promise the two guys WILL be getting together very soon. Another update coming shortly...


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: Finally. They're gonna being the same room...

* * *

Love Etc (Chapter 7) by frostygossamer

* * *

Dean arrived at the Tavern to find Sean manfully keeping the bar in the main room, while one waitress and the assistant from the kitchen served the early evening diners.

"Hi, Sean," he said. "Looks like you're coping OK."

Sean scoffed. "Cookie's managing alone in the kitchen. He brought his kid in to do the dishes. And I've got kitchen staff serving. If you can deal with the booking in the back room?"

Dean flashed him a reassuring grin and patted him on the shoulder.

"No problem, man," he said. "Piece of cake."

Dean went in the private bar at the back and switched on the lights. First of all, he needed to shift the spare chairs that had been stored in there since the last time the room was used. It was for some chick's birthday soirée, he remembered.

After clearing the floor, he adjusted the mood lighting and set up a couple tables, then he checked out the stock in the smaller bar in the corner of the room. With that done, he walked back out and into the kitchen.

"Hi there, Cookie," he greeted the tubby man who was stirring saucepans on the stovetop, while his skinny teen busied himself mopping the floor around him. "Hey, kid. How's it hanging?"

The kid stopped and grinned foolishly. "Kinda low, Dean," he answered.

His father tapped him on the head with a spoon. "No slacking!" he commanded, then he pointed to some trays laying on the counter beside him. They were full of snacks freshly prepared for the private drinks party. "There you go, Dean, those'll be for you."

Dean emptied the trays onto serving plates and put the plates on a trolley, then he trundled them into the back room and laid them out on the tables he had set up. He surveyed the room.

"Peachy," he thought, clapping his hands together. "Now all we need is a little background music."

Guests started to drift in in dribs and drabs. They ordered their drinks and then stood around the edges of the room in awkward twos and threes chatting quietly. After a few minutes, a small group came in together, led by a middle-aged bearded guy with a slim young blonde on his arm. The age-mismatched couple were laughing together over some shared joke. The others with them smiled respectfully.

"Hmm. Important guy," thought Dean, occupied polishing glasses with a bar towel. "The old freakin' goat," he chuckled under his breath.

"So when am I gonna meet this new beau of yours, Rachel?" he clearly heard the older guy ask.

"Oh, he'll be along soon, Bobby," she answered. "Meanwhile let's have a drink."

With that the blonde, Rachel, stalked over to the bar and caught Dean's eye with a flirty smile. Now he recognized her. She was the chick from the birthday party.

"Hi, handsome," she said. "I'd like a manhattan, please, and my friend would like a straight whiskey."

Dean served up the drinks. "There you go," he said, as he placed them on the bar.

She had just returned with their drinks to her old guy when the door opened, with an unfortunate creak. Dean made a mental note to oil that some time. And who should walk in but... Sam, looking oddly bashful.

Everyone in the room stopped talking and looked at him, but before he could say anything, Rachel prowled over to him and slapped a smooch right on his mug, resting her hands on his strong shoulders. She was all over him. Sam seemed to return the kiss pretty enthusiastically. The crowd clapped and hooted.

Eventually she pulled away from him and said, "At last. We've all been waiting for you."

Dean felt a pang, yes it was a goddamn pang, of envy shoot through his heart.

"Damn you bitch," he thought. "The only guy I EVER had the serious freakin' hots for and he's YOURS."

But, hey, if this chick was Sam's wife, fiancée, whatever, then there was going to be an awkward moment when Sam spotted Dean right there in the same room with her. So Dean decided he had better keep a low profile. He quickly finished pouring a couple dozen flutes of champagne, so the guests could help themselves, and disappeared behind the counter.

While Dean was sitting on the floor behind the bar, someone else joined the party. It was Dan the dentist, Rachel's date. The moment she spotted him, Rachel abandoned Sam and ran to his side, flinging herself into his outstretched arms.

"Oh, Dan honey, I almost thought you wouldn't make it," she gasped, after a long and passionate embrace with her guy. "You gotta meet everyone."

She grabbed his hand and dragged him over to Bobby and Sam, now sipping champagne together.

"Guys, this is Dan," she said proudly. "Dan, this is Sam, my 'boss', and Bobby, our new 'trainee'," she quipped.

Sam shook the newcomer's hand.

"Glad to meet you at last, Dan," he said. "Rachel had been bending my ear about you. I'm Rachel's senior partner, by the way, not her boss."

"And it's a deuced long time since I been a trainee," laughed Bobby, doing the same, "Pleased to meet ya."

Someone coughed above Dean's head. He glanced upward. A curly-haired young guy was leaning over the bar, looking down at him.

"Any chance of a beer?" he asked. "Not into this 'bubbly' stuff."

Dean stood up and dusted himself off. It was a little embarrassing, getting caught hiding from people.

"Stock-taking," he said by way of explanation, and poured the kid a Bud.

He looked around the room. Sam and Bobby were chatting together. Rachel was now draped around some NEW guy, and she was getting even MORE handsy with this new guy than she had been with Sam.

"That bitch is insatiable!" he thought, but he had to smirk a little.

As Dean began to replenished the supply of champagne, the guy named Bobby took a dime from his pocket and chinked it on his glass a couple times, to attract everyone's attention.

"I'd just like to take a moment to thank everyone, and especially Sam here, for welcoming me and my people at Singer & Co. into the WinchesterTech family," he said. "Ifn we'd been taken over by anyone else, woulda been a goddamn catastrophe. You've made it seem like a kick upstairs. Kids, I'm really touched. You've all been so godddamn great. Now I'd like to propose a toast to WinchesterTech and Sam, and our future working together."

Everyone raised their glasses and took a sip.

"And now," he continued, waving to Sam. "I believe Sam here would like to say a few words."

Sam moved to the centre of the room and cleared his throat. Dean stopped working so he could better hear Sam's voice, which he had only heard once before.

"When I first left Stanford to start WinchesterTech it was kinduva long shot. Back then if someone had told me we'd be quoted on the Stock Exchange I'd have said he was a liar. Never figured I'd be dealing every day in figures in the millions and being interviewed by Fortune magazine."

The crowd cheered.

"But success isn't everything. I'm a teacher at heart. Academia is my home ground. Stanford is where I belong. Now someone has asked me to go back to Stanford, and take up my old position. Some of you will know my old Head of Faculty, and incidently my ex, David Mann. And, well, I think I'm gonna take him up on the offer."

He put one hand on Rachel's shoulder and one on Bobby's.

"With my dear friend Bobby on-board, I'm confident I can hand over the reins of WinchesterTech to my business partner Rachel. I'm sure Bobby will be there for her just as she was there for me, from the start."

"I hope to be ironing out the details over the next month," he concluded.

Dean flopped his butt back down on the floor. So Sam was a millionaire? Owner of his own tech company? Quoted on the Stock Exchange? And Rachel was his business partner NOT his wife! And he WAS gay and single! Dean shook his head in disbelief.

So what the hell had the guy been waiting for? The big, adorable schmuck.

TBC

* * *

A/N: I promise I really did mean to get to the getting together part this chapter, but it got longer than I intended. So I thought I may as well post this for you to be getting on with. I'm typing the next chapter as you read this.


	8. Chapter 8

A/N: Finally!

* * *

Love Etc (Chapter 8) by frostygossamer

* * *

A couple hours later the party had wound down some, and Sam found himself shaking hands with people as they drifted off one by one. Bobby was fast asleep on a chair in a corner with his tie undone, and Rachel was curled up with her dentist. Sam wandered over to the deserted bar, perched on a bar stool and stared into his empty glass. He was feeling totally mixed-up inside. This takeover should have been the start of something new. It felt like the end.

When he had made that little breakthrough back at Stanford, everyone had told him he needed to start his own company and make money for himself, for a change. Even then his relationship with Dave had been on the skids for quite some time. Dave was flying to Europe every other week to push his book, and they saw so little of each other. Small wonder Sam had jumped at the excuse to up stakes and set up his little tech company someplace else.

Astoundingly, the business had really taken off. Like everybody said it would. The only thing missing was someone to share it with. He kind of missed Dave. So if the guy was back at Stanford permanently...?

Still, Sam didn't think their relationship could ever be what it had been. Too much water had flowed under that bridge. But Sam had gotten used to living with someone. He was so not a love-'em-and-leave-'em guy. He needed someone who cared, and he was lonely. So lonely in fact that he had let himself get all dewy-eyed over some fantasy man he'd only ever spoken to once, and knew zip about. What a jerk...

"Top you up?" asked a husky voice from behind the bar.

"Uh no, I..." Sam glanced up at the bartender and, for a second, he figured he was still daydreaming. "You?!"

Dean chuckled. "Yeah, it's me. And I guess this is you," he indicated the rest of the room with a wave of his hand, "Mister Business Executive, huh?"

Sam smiled up at him. "Yeah, you're right. Mister freakin' Business," he agreed.

Dean leaned down toward him and whispered, "Sam, you wanna get outta here?"

Sam nodded his assent without a moment's hesitation.

Sam followed Dean out of the bar and down to the parking lot like a puppy. He would have followed the guy anywhere.

"Gimme your keys," Dean insisted. "You're sure as Hell not sober enough to drive."

Sam obediently handed them over.

"So which is yours?" Dean asked, scanning the lot and wondering what kind of a car this new Sam would have.

"That," Sam answered, pointing a his SUV.

They walked over to the car. Dean unlocked it and they slid inside. The moment he got in the driver's seat, Dean did a double take.

"This is yours? The hell! Spent all day fixing this freakin' thing," he gasped. "You're the nerd?!"

Sam gave him an odd look. "Wait. You're the mechanic?" he demanded. "What? At Luis' Repair Shop?"

"Sure," Dean returned, a little defensively. "And what's wrong with that?"

"Nothing," Sam answered quickly. "Just thought... Dunno... Doesn't matter."

Dean started the engine and pulled out of the lot.

"How come I didn't see you at the repair shop?" Sam wondered.

"Probably because I was HERE, setting up for YOUR little mixer, doofus," Dean answered, with a snarky laugh. "You gonna give me directions to your place? Or should we just drive 'round 'til you sober up?"

It took them about forty-five minutes to get to Sam's condo, and about five more minutes to get each other stripped and on the bed.

It started in the driveway.

Dean pulled up in front of Sam's building and just stared ahead silently. He really wasn't sure how far he wanted to go with this. Even if he wanted to go at all. It was Sam who broke the silence.

"I GOT a couch," he said. "But, you choose the goddamn couch over my bed tonight, I'm gonna bust your perfect freakin' nose."

He was a little drunk. Dean didn't know whether to be alarmed by that threat or roar with laughter. He turned toward Sam and regarded him a couple seconds with his head tilted to one side.

And he said, "OK."

Sam lurched forward and shoved his lips against Dean's, and Dean couldn't help but melt into him. He didn't even WANT to analyse why he got all tingly when the big guy took control. So long, macho.

Sam pulled away first. "C'mon," he said and, opening the passenger door, he dragged Dean behind him, out of his seat and up to his apartment door, where he fumbled for his bunch of keys.

"Got 'em," said Dean, jangling Sam's keys in his face.

Sam grabbed them with a little snarl and proceeded to try and unlock his door. His hands were far from steady, partly because of the alcohol and partly from growing excitement. After a second, Dean grabbed his hand and guided the key into the lock. They pretty much FELL into the apartment.

Slamming the door shut, Sam pushed Dean against it with one hand on his chest.

"C'mere," he growled. "Got plans for you."

Dean felt his knees go wobbly.

The only thing that hampered Sam getting the clothes off of Dean was the way Dean was simultaneously attempting to do the same to him. Every item that came off revealed fresh inches of tempting flesh and ripped muscle to their eager lips and fingers. Finally, Sam managed to get Dean on his back on the bed... and then Dean called a halt.

"Wait, wait, wait," he gabbled, trying to push Sam away.

"Oh, baby, what's wrong?" Sam all but whined.

Dean exhaled. "Gotta tell ya," he said quietly. "Never done this before. N-not with a guy."

Sam chuckled and smiled down at him disarmingly.

"Don't you worry, baby. I get it," he assured Dean. "And I can be REAL gentle."

As he spoke he ran his big hand slowly down Dean's naked side, caressing his hip and sliding his long fingers around to cup his plump ass-cheek. Dean shivered.

"You like that," Sam murmured. Dean couldn't argue.

Sam was on his knees straddling Dean's hips. Gazing up at him, Dean vaguely expected to see a ring of cloud around his head like Everest, the guy looked so damn tall.

"Come down here," he said, patting the bed. "You're too freakin' far away up there."

Sam chuckled sexily and shifted to lay down at Dean's side, as Dean shuffled to make room for him. They lay there like parentheses staring at each other without touching. Until Sam wrapped a strong arm around Dean's waist and pulled him tight against his body, making Dean go "ooph!"

He buried his face in the bend between Dean's neck and shoulder, and Dean wrapped his free arm around his back possessively. Sam dug his teeth into the firm flesh of Dean's deltoid and Dean made another tiny hot noise. Sam decided Dean's little noises were going to be the death of him.

Dean inhaled a shaky breath and Sam pulled back a little to look at his face. Jeez, the guy was beautiful, his pupils dilated and dark. He reminded Sam of a frightened bird.

"Baby, it's OK," he breathed, and Dean actually whimpered. God, he was going to be so ashamed tomorrow.

Sam spat in his hand and slipped his long sensitive fingers around both their members, wrapping them together in his big strong fist, and began to firmly pump them both as one. Dean gasped and braced his hand against Sam's hip, reflexively digging his nails into Sam's tanned skin.

"Oh God," he panted "Oh GOD, Sammy. Please!"

That pet name had Sam growling Dean's name erotically. Only a little more wrist action and they were both coming together, hot and fast.

They collapsed side by side, naked and sticky, letting their hearts return to a steady drumbeat. It took a while. And as they lay there together, Sam threaded his fingers with Dean's.

Dean made a "humph" sound, but he let him.

TBC

* * *

A/N: So they finally got it together. But it's not gonna end here. That would be too easy. More soon...

BTW Was that too strong for T? Should I had made this M?


	9. Chapter 9

A/N: A little too easy? Come on! Sam and Dean never get anything the easy way.

* * *

Love Etc (Chapter 9) by frostygossamer

* * *

They lay there in the bed after finally getting there acts together in the same place at the same time. At long last they had gotten their asses in harmony, literally as well as figuratively. And that should have been 'happy ending' time, but...

OK. So far so good. Sam had gotten the man of his dreams in his bed and, yeah, for a first time it had been great. More than great, perfect. And Sam hoped that that was all that really mattered, right?

Dean, on the other hand, ought never to have been left to think. Dean had a skeptical little angel on his shoulder who made all the important decisions for him, and it had a tendency to nag.

Yet, as they lay sweaty and naked on Sam's Egyptian cotton sheets, it was Sam who spoke first.

"So, Don," he said. "You're a car mechanic."

Dean flinched. "Don?" he snapped, eyes wide in disbelief. "Don?! Who. The freak. Is Don?"

"YOU are. Uh? Damn it! Did I get that wrong too? Crap!" Sam gasped, suddenly mortified. "So, uh, what IS your name?"

"Dean. My name is Dean," Dean answered, exasperated. "Not freakin' Don. Jeez!"

It wasn't like he hadn't introduced himself, back there on the bus that very first day. Hell, HE had gotten Sam's name. Was this guy deaf or what? No wonder the dumb-ass hadn't called him. He had probably 'forgotten' his damn number too.

"Hey! Dean? That's not so far off," Sam chuckled. "Closer than the other stuff."

"What other stuff?" Dean asked, suspiciously.

"Well, I reckoned you were some kinda artist," explained Sam. "A sculptor, to be precise, in metal. Saw you on the bus with tools and I..."

"Sure I had tools," Dean cut in. "Mechanic's tools. I'd been working on Sean the bar owner's engine. You got some weird freakin' imagination, Sam."

"Guess I have," Sam agreed. "I kinda make money from my imagination."

Dean shook his head. The guy was a space cadet. He guessed it came with the nerdy territory.

So he smiled indulgently. "What else?"

"Figured you woulda gone to Art College," Sam went on. "And probably broke everyone's heart."

Dean snickered. "Never finished High School. But you're right, I DID break every kid's freakin' heart."

Sam turned his head on the pillow and admired Dean's pretty profile for a moment. God, that guy looked awesome. He was SO a heartbreaker.

"And I reckoned you woulda had your pick of the most knockout art scene chicks," he went on. "Reckoned you'd to be hitched to some sexy blonde peach." And that was a nervous question heavily disguised.

"Used to live with a cute blonde," Dean admitted, remembering those rocky few years with Jo. "Didn't work out."

Sam thought he sounded sort of wistful. "No?" he asked. "Why not?"

But Dean grinned broadly. "Guess it musta been cos I'm freakin' GAY!" And they both laughed aloud.

Dean couldn't believe how good it felt to finally say it, admit it out loud. Actually 'gay' was maybe an exaggeration, 'bi' was closer, but up till then Dean hadn't even really allowed himself to THINK anything more concrete than 'not totally straight'.

He rolled toward Sam and slipped his arms around the guy's broad shoulders. Damn, that dude was huge. Dean was no short-ass but Sam made him feel kind of... dainty.

"I was freakin' wrong about you too," he admitted. "Convinced myself you were married to that hottie Rachel, had maybe five kids, some goddamn white-picket-fence life. Figured maybe you just had a wayward freakin' eye."

"What? A gay eye?" Sam had to chuckle at that. "Nuh-uh," he replied, stroking Dean's spiky hair. "Rach is a colleague and good friend. My heart's been yours since the day we met."

After a moment to process that, Dean inhaled sharply. "Dude, you're talking about love," he gasped.

"Sure am," Sam agreed, his hazel eyes conveying total sincerity.

Dean really didn't know what to say or even what to think about that. He really, really DIDN'T want to think about that. So, instead, he just kissed Sam, long and hard.

Sam didn't seem to mind. "You're staying the night," he whispered against Dean's neck.

It was a statement not a question, but Dean answered anyways, "Sure, Sam."

At dawn the following morning, the early light found Sam and Dean thrown together in sleep. Dean was the first to wake.

And he was FULL of doubt.

He squirmed out from under the sprawled Sam, and scrabbled around gathering up his discarded clothes. By accident he picked up Sam's shorts, seeing them for the first time with clear eyes, and spotted the Galaxy Quest quotation emblazoned on them.

"Really, Sam," he snickered quietly. "I get that you're a nerd, but..."

He got as far as the door before Sam spoke.

"You hafta go?" Sam asked. "You know, don't ya, Dean? You NEVER have to go."

Dean sighed, his hand on the doorknob. "I do," he said. "This was... I dunno... weird."

"Weird?!" Sam gasped, sitting up in bed. "How 'weird'? What did I do?"

Dean shrugged. "It's not what you did. It's what you said, man."

When Sam simply stared at him in confusion, Dean clarified, "You started talking about... love."

"I...? And that's bad why?" Sam asked, perplexed.

"Because you don't KNOW me, Sam," Dean explained. "You've fallen for some romantic freakin' image of me that was all in your head. Hell, you didn't even get my damn name right."

Sam opened and closed his mouth, and stuttered, "Bu-but... I know stuff..."

Dean let go the doorknob, but remained standing in the doorway. He was halfway out; he wasn't coming back.

"No, you don't," he disagreed, calmly. "I know plenty stuff about YOU. Like your name is Sam Winchester, you speak three or four languages, taught at Stanford and own a cutting-edge tech business. You're a freakin' nerd millionaire, Sam. You listen to classical music and freakin' faggoty power ballads, and Rachel is your business partner NOT your girlfriend. And, and..."

"But, Dean..." Sam tried to cut in, but Dean continued determinedly.

"You're a single, gay, adorable dork, Sam, but you don't know crap about me. You're INFATUATED not in love."

He fidgeted with the door and avoided Sam's eyes, glancing down at the floor.

"And this is not gonna work," he finished. "For what it's worth... I'm sorry."

With that Dean slipped out the door, and was gone before Sam could drag on his pants and run outside after him.

Dean quickly jumped on the next bus that came along. Of course it was THEIR bus, the first one of the day, and he was the only traveller on board. He dropped in a seat and sighed as he was carried away from the world of condos and SUVs, and back towards his home ground of cheap rented apartments and footsloggers, getting down where he normally got on.

When he got in his place, Dean realized he badly needed a shower. He was wearing his bar clothes, the bottle-green T-shirt decorated with Sean's logo, a stupid, smiling shamrock motif which in no way matched his mood. His street clothes were still where he had left them, at the bar.

He stripped everything off and plunged under the red-hot waterfall. Closing his eyes, Dean allowed the steaming water to flow over him in healing rivulets. And his mind snapped right back to Sam. Sam with his big hands squeezing Dean's butt, his mouth on Dean's throat. Sam enormous and all over him like some freakin' tsunami, intense, powerful, undeniable. Jeez!

Dean sagged against the shower wall. He had just walked out on the most perfect person he had ever met. Why? Because he was a guy! But, God, what a guy! He had to be insane.

Oh yeah, it had been right, what he said to Sam. Sam DIDN'T know him. The jackass had cooked up a complete fantasy that had nothing to do with Dean. True, Dean WAS kind of an artist in metal. He DID have the hands of an artist, an artist in automotive repair. He liked to think of himself as a virtuoso, and he could make an engine growl like Hendrix's Fender Stratocaster. Only, he had never made it to college. He had done pretty good at high school, but John couldn't afford it. So why did Sam have to rub his nose in that? Freakin' Stanford Boy!

Yet Sam was a big freakin' honey bear, drop-dead gorgeous and exactly what Dean needed. And, he had to admit, as much as Sam was infatuated with him, Dean was infatuated with Sam. What a freakin' idjit.

Dean crawled out the shower and got dressed. He was almost out the door again when a sudden overwhelming exhaustion overtook him and he decided to call in sick. No way could he show his face at the repair shop today. No way.

Instead, he spent the day trying to convince himself he wasn't an irrecoverable loser.

Dean was going to put Sam behind him the same way he put Jo behind him, and move on.

He just had to keep on telling himself that.

TBC

* * *

A/N: Poor old Dean. Just one more chapter should do it, I think. Updating soon...


	10. Chapter 10

A/N: The final chapter, starting with Sam again. Fingers crossed it works out for the boys...

* * *

Love Etc (Chapter 10) by frostygossamer

* * *

Sam stood in the middle of his street, shirtless and barefoot, staring at the spot where he had just glimpsed the new object of his love step on a departing bus.

He didn't get it. He honestly didn't get it. He had thought that at last everything had worked out great. But he had reckoned without a Dean who was superhumanly capable of still being in denial AFTER the fact.

Sam walked back into his apartment and collapsed in an armchair. "This can't be happening," he thought.

The guy had come home with him willingly enough. He had made love with him without coercion. He had stayed the night because he wanted to. Or so Sam had thought. So why the blue funk?

He was mulling the chain of events over in his head like a bad dream when his telephone rang. He picked it up.

"Hi, Sam," It was Rachel.

"Oh hi, Rach," Sam replied, his voice conveying a little of his gloom.

"You wanna hear my news?" she asked excitedly.

Sam sighed theatrically. "Sure," he replied. "Fire away."

But Rachel seemed to detect something amiss in his tone.

"What's wrong?" she asked kindly. "You got a hangover? Cos I got a doozy," and she chuckled then winced.

"No. Well, yeah. A little. But it's not that," Sam replied. "You see, my bus guy, he was tending bar."

Rachel inhaled in surprise. "That hottie? That was the bus guy? Say, I told you you needed to come along."

Sam grumbled and went on, "He spent the night, but I, uh, I guess I frightened him away."

"Frightened him AWAY?!" Rachel echoed. "What in Hell did you do? Tie him to the bed naked and whip him with a bunch of wet celery?"

Sam almost but didn't quite manage a laugh. "Guess I overwhelmed him, Rach. He ran outta here like a startled rabbit."

"Oh God, Sam," Rachel gasped. "That's a bummer. I guess you don't need my news then."

Sam sighed. "C'mon. Out with it, Rach," he encouraged.

"I've gotten engaged. Dan asked me to marry him. Last night. Be pleased for me, Sam."

"Yeah," Sam responded. "Sure, I'm pleased for you, Rach. He's one lucky guy."

He only wished he had been so lucky.

All day at work, Sam wandered around in a dejected fog. It really was stupid, he knew. But, heck, it was his company. He could bring down everyone's mood if he wanted to.

"Figured we were finally in sync," he told his bemused assistant Andy.

"Shoulda kept my freakin' mouth shut," he bellyached to Rachel. "Told him all the dumb story I dreamed up about him. Musta sounded like a damn fool."

"Did I offend him?" he asked the mirror in the men's room.

Had he come over as some kind of a snob? Honestly he could care less that Dean was blue-collar. He had had plenty students with an unfortunate lack of early chances, who had only gotten to Stanford on a full ride scholarship. He had nothing but admiration for them. They had always been his best pupils. Did that sound patronizing?

The story he had invented was nothing to do with that. It was just romantic nonsense, concocted by a creative mind. He hadn't fallen in love with 'Don'. He had fallen in love with Dean, the flesh-and-blood guy he met on that damn bus. He thought that he had shown him plenty evidence of that last night.

His head was still full of second-guesses when Bobby walked in his office and mouthed "Food?" He nodded and followed the older man across the street to a little cafe they often used. If Bobby had known he was going to have to act Dutch uncle he would have skipped lunch.

"So why did Dean bolt?" Sam moaned. "I remember the way he looked, the sound of his voice, when he told me, '...this is not gonna work... I'm sorry.' So freakin' tense."

Bobby scoffed and shook his head. "The guy was SCARED," he pronounced sagely.

Sam ran his hands threw his floppy hair, realization hitting him.

"He was scared? Damn it, yeah. Came on too fast and too strong, and I scared the life outta the guy. Such a freakin' doofus!"

Once Bobby had come up with the idea, Sam saw it kind of made sense. Dean had panicked. He was a totally straight-acting guy from a roughneck, masculine world. He had just come from a straight relationship with a woman, and Sam was expecting him to swap teams like it was nothing. Him and his damn la-di-da, liberal lifestyle.

OK. So Sam had to make it right. Dave could go stuff himself, he had to find Dean. He had to talk to him. He was going to have to take a step backward and get this thing back on track, or he was going to lose Dean for good.

And that was so NOT going to happen.

Early next morning, Dean boarded his regular bus. As usual, it was pretty full, but he managed to find himself a place on the first forward-facing seat. He got himself as comfortable as he could, and plunged his head into AC/DC.

Sam was not going to be a problem. Sam had his SUV and, Dean had reason to know, that baby was running like herd of wild horses. He wouldn't be seeing that guy's ass on the bus for a LONG time. If ever.

Farther along the route, Sam scoped the bus as he stood in line to board. He had driven to his office from home precisely to meet with this particular bus, the one he knew, fingers crossed, Dean SHOULD be riding this morning. Sure enough, there he was.

Dean's eyes were shut, and he was swaying almost imperceptibly in his seat, to the iPod clone plugged into his neat little ears. Sam slipped on the bus and quickly scanned what he called the trip'u'up seats at the side. Who should be occupying the side-seat right in front of Dean, but that pudgy-assed business suit who had caused so much trouble, when the poor kid with a broken leg needed a sit-down.

The short, obnoxious guy glanced idly up, and he blanched when he locked eyes with Sam. Clearly he hadn't forgotten the scene he had caused the last time. Smiling sheepishly, he got up out of his seat and creeped away into the back of the noisy, crowded bus.

Sam flopped down in his place quietly, and simply beamed at Dean's oblivious face for a few moments before reaching over and yanking an earbud out of the guy's perfect earhole.

"Hey!" came out automatically, but then Dean registered who it was sitting right by him. "Sam!" he growled reproachfully.

Sam chuckled. "Yeah," he said. "The self-same, dumb-ass jerk Sam Winchester."

"And it gets worse," he warned, slipping onto his knees in the limited space between seats.

Dean glanced around the bus, stricken. "For God's sake, Sam, you're NOT gonna..."

Sam stopped him by putting his big hand on his left knee and squeezing.

"Sure am," he said calmly. "Just let it happen."

It wasn't like Dean could do anything about it. The bus was packed. It would have turned into a huge scene if he had tried to get off between stops. And it wasn't like anyone was going to hear Sam over the general hubbub anyways. He sighed loudly and turned his eyes to the roof.

Sam took a breath. "Gotta tell you," he began. "You were right."

"About what?" drawled Dean, flatly.

"About every damn thing," Sam answered. "But mainly about me. I AM a jerk-ass. Don't deserve you, but I mean to someday. So I'm gonna ride this bus every morning."

Dean made a protesting noise, which Sam ignored.

"Every day I'm gonna sit beside you and we're gonna talk. We're gonna talk about you and we're gonna talk about me, and we're gonna get to know each other. And then, when we both have each other by heart, I'm gonna ask you to come live with me in sunny Palo Alto. But not till then. And I'm confident, well pretty confident, that you're gonna say yes."

Dean made another noise that wasn't quite as dismissive, and he lowered his face to look at Sam.

After a long pause he opened his sweet pink mouth and said, "Maybe."

The bus straight up ERUPTED with applause and wolf-whistles.

Neither guy had noticed that the entire vehicle had fallen silent during Sam's little speech. Every one of them, the little old ladies, the mothers and kids, the businessmen and wage slaves, and the snaky weirdos in the back. They were all hanging on his every word.

The driver, a tough larger woman, pulled over and turned around in her seat.

"Thank you, Baby Jesus," she said. "We been running a book on whether you two dumb-asses were ever gonna get it together."

There was only one thing Dean could do after that news. He grabbed Sam and gave his lips a good bruising, right there in front of the whole bus.

"From now on," he whispered hoarsely in the big guy's ear. "You're gonna give me a ride every day in that freakin' SUV."

Sam could only moan dirtily, "Baby, that better be a promise."

The End

* * *

A/N: There you are. Hope you enjoyed it. I never expected it to turn out as long. First WIP I've ever written too so it's been... busy.

Many thanks to TheResurrectionist for letting me use your original one-shot. I hope you like what I did with it.


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